


Old Memories

by i_write_for_my_friends



Category: Fire Emblem: If | Fire Emblem: Fates
Genre: F/M, past relationship saigero, sad angst kinda, saizo cant let her go, saizo is very sad u cant tell me he isn't
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-29
Updated: 2016-04-29
Packaged: 2018-06-05 08:07:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6696748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/i_write_for_my_friends/pseuds/i_write_for_my_friends
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He was baffled at how easy it was for her to forget.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Old Memories

They both agreed that it was best to end what they had. Stakes that were much too high, added to the strain of their rocky, up-and-down courtship, and neither would allow it to continue to become physically unhealthy. On their last day as lovers, the couple vowed never to let their separation interfere with their duties, and each swore to remain civil to the other and forget what was in the past.

He was baffled at how easy it was for her to forget.

Saizo couldn’t count the number of instances where he'd close his gaping mouth thankfully before cluttered words would start to spill out of him, whenever she was about to leave the room. Not even the peak of his training and level of military desocialization was enough to clear his mind of his lingering thoughts of her; even when he pleaded with any god that would listen to him to make him fulfill his side of their negotiation. The ninja instead, watched Kagero until she was no longer in range of his sight, holding back any impulse to catch her and take her back.

Any conversations he and Kagero ever held were unpassionate, with the exception of disagreements and arguments on how one should handle their tasks. Saizo refused to raise his voice at her, no matter how agitated both ninja became, simply due to the fact his anger was spent and all he could feel was agony and sore and exhausted from their fighting. He would look at her with his good eye, putting faith in his belief that she could still read the stoic man like an open book, just like she always had, and see how desperately he hated that the only instances where they spoke to each other now was confrontational, and nothing else. He prayed for the day where she would comply after he pleaded through his face, telling her _come back to me,_ and _I want to make this work._ Being trampled to death was a lesser punishment than the expression she’d make after analyzing what he tried so hard to convey to her, then realizing she had places to be and no time to waste.

Nights were never harder for him in his entire life; despite the insomnia, despite the death of his father, despite being paranoid, and despite having a liege he pledged his soul to. In some of the early hours, he could smell her favorite fragrance she used to drown her scarf in on his pillow, waking him with false pretenses that she was still there, resting next to him snugly his arms and he would curse and shed a few tears and curse some more, feeling so _stupid_  for fucking everything up and for letting her go. He would stare at the corner of the ceiling and shiver because his quarters were _cold_ and uninviting, as his mind plagued him with images of her being attacked at any moment and he wouldn't be there to take the blade for her and keep her alive, even if it meant his heart would stop. It would be nothing in comparison to the aches and pains he endured constantly after she moved out of his bed.

Though she was gone and far from his room, drawings and paintings she disowned and was ready to scrap hung on all of his walls. He recalled all of the late afternoons they had free to themselves when she sat still, her paintbrush guiding her hand from her scroll to make strokes and back to her inkpot, steadily, patiently, slowly, and too complicatedly for a brash hothead like himself to consider the hobby. He remembered the times when he’d hold her by the waist, nibbling at the exposed skin on her neck with confidence he’d successfully avert her from such a pointless waste of their sparingly free moments they had together, but the only reaction was always her utensil fumbling out of her hand and onto her work, followed by puddles never meant to be where the ink splattered. Saizo then was forced to sleep outside, but another piece he would cherish and praise her talent for in the morning was added to his possessions. The memories left a bitter, metallic taste on his tongue, intensifying if he lifted his hand to tear any one picture down. He gave up removing them just in weeks that followed the end of their relationship.

Seeing her in a room with another man had stirred envy in him like he never knew he could feel so vehemently, tossing him into tormented confusion when he felt so, even if that man were his own lord or brother. What caused him to burn the most, however, was his unnoticed effort of never removing his mask, no matter his company.

Saizo knew the exact date, a scorching and humid day in late July; she sat in his lap, her scarf discarded and thrown behind them, and she was still drenched with sweat, but he never touched his or the cover meant for his mouth. After she asked him how he wasn’t at death’s door keeping both accessories on in the heat, he reminded her that he was a twin, and that his twin didn’t conceal his face and he mysteriously had more female fans than himself. Kagero formed a smile at this, pulling his mask down for a second to meet his lips. She teased that his arrogance and rigid personality were the real reasons women didn’t flock to him.

He found some solace in the chance of her learning that he always had it on translated to how available he kept himself for the day she’d fall back into his arms and sleep back in their bed. The fact that she displayed no tells of her relationship status gnawed at him, and he wasn’t about to pry into her private life, either, because it was no longer his business and he wasn’t prepared to hear the truth, if it was the worst possible outcome for him. He wanted to know her secret to not caring about the past, how she behaved that there weren’t days they shared laughing at every horrible joke, and there weren’t nights they shared love, and everything else was far away, none of it on either of their minds.

So when he awoke at dawn, wiping away the sleeplessness from his eye, and after he dressed and prepared for the day ahead of him, he breathed, taking too long to look at the last painting he ruined and received from his lover, he took the walk to her quarters before reporting to Hoshido’s crown prince. He stood just outside, losing all the nerve he worked up to take himself to her in the first place, but his feet wouldn’t allow him to turn and avoid what he so desperately feared to confront. The ninja poked his head in to see her blinking her eyes carefully. She sat up, left hand scrunching her blankets between her digits as he asked her name, and she confirmed to him that was her identity.

The man sighed, his worries were eased but his shoulders remained tense. He understood that if he stayed any longer than he was welcome, he would interrupt her separate morning routines. Saizo pulled her door until it closed, twisting its knob habitually so it made no lasting sounds. Were he slower with breaking himself away from her, he would have seen the same smile she reserved for him, and only him.

**Author's Note:**

> uuuughgh i can't write..i haven't written something in 87 years but this rarepair is basically eating me alive :)))) i tried to kinda portray how their relationship was bumpy and how different they were so that was fun lol


End file.
